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THE OAK-TREE'S PROPHECY.
When first the maiden Spring tripped out of sight,
And Summer donned her ribbons fresh and bright,
And smiled along her emerald-shaded leas,
There ran a thrill though all the forest trees.
And Summer donned her ribbons fresh and bright,
And smiled along her emerald-shaded leas,
There ran a thrill though all the forest trees.
A vet'ran oak—tall prophet of the wood,
That for a hundred years unscathed had stood,
Had mused long nights o'er forest tragedies,
Had glared reproach at weak frivolities,
Now spoke portentous words—soon whispered round
With the first zephyr that the forest found.
That for a hundred years unscathed had stood,
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Had glared reproach at weak frivolities,
Now spoke portentous words—soon whispered round
With the first zephyr that the forest found.
“Beware, O burghers of the woodland range,”
This prophet said: “eftsoon there comes a change.
We who have lived so blithely, soon must roam
In forms diverse! This sweetly-quiet home,
Where we have prospered many a changing year,
Must now, my omens tell me, disappear.
This city, whence our commerce, day by day,
Has through the air-ship-birds pursued its way,
And by our wingéd messengers of seeds,
Filled and had filled a score of diverse needs,
Must soon beneath Destruction's foot be cast,
And shrink amid the wreckage of the past.”
This prophet said: “eftsoon there comes a change.
We who have lived so blithely, soon must roam
In forms diverse! This sweetly-quiet home,
Where we have prospered many a changing year,
Must now, my omens tell me, disappear.
This city, whence our commerce, day by day,
Has through the air-ship-birds pursued its way,
And by our wingéd messengers of seeds,
Filled and had filled a score of diverse needs,
Must soon beneath Destruction's foot be cast,
And shrink amid the wreckage of the past.”
Then spoke a lady elm, “O father, pray
Decline the loan of trouble: let today
Care for today—tomorrow for itself:
Anticipation is a tricksy elf.
The noon is strong, the midnight shades are sweet,
The twilight treads our halls with gentle feet,
And what has been will be from day to day;
So let us live, and love our years away!”
Decline the loan of trouble: let today
Care for today—tomorrow for itself:
Anticipation is a tricksy elf.
The noon is strong, the midnight shades are sweet,
The twilight treads our halls with gentle feet,
And what has been will be from day to day;
So let us live, and love our years away!”
A rough-clad hickory, on each opening morn,
Gazed at the prophet, with a sneer of scorn.
“Now, prophet, let me prophesy!” he said:
“Forests will live long after men are dead.
The sun will rise and plough the skies, and sleep,
The rain will from its leaden chariots leap,
And we still live—the same blithe forest folk—
In spite of all your omens, father Oak.
Fling deep your roots and breakfast well and fair;
Spread out your leaves and drink the morning air.
Be ‘up to date’, and join us with your best
To make these doleful prophecies a jest!
For many years to come, when time is long,
Your words shall form the theme of jocund song.”
Gazed at the prophet, with a sneer of scorn.
“Now, prophet, let me prophesy!” he said:
“Forests will live long after men are dead.
The sun will rise and plough the skies, and sleep,
The rain will from its leaden chariots leap,
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In spite of all your omens, father Oak.
Fling deep your roots and breakfast well and fair;
Spread out your leaves and drink the morning air.
Be ‘up to date’, and join us with your best
To make these doleful prophecies a jest!
For many years to come, when time is long,
Your words shall form the theme of jocund song.”
But still the Oak dispensed his warning bold:
“Prepare, O comrades of the future wold,
For sudden change, and other forms of life
Amid creation's varied peace and strife!
Pray that you next be flowers, or trees once more,
If you would live as you have lived before;
Or beg that you may bloom as spirit-trees,
In fairer climes and happier lands than these.
Pray for fair life in lives that soon befall:
For earthly death is hovering o'er us all!
The sun is setting; soon shall close the day:
O heedless forest, bow your heads and pray!”
“Prepare, O comrades of the future wold,
For sudden change, and other forms of life
Amid creation's varied peace and strife!
Pray that you next be flowers, or trees once more,
If you would live as you have lived before;
Or beg that you may bloom as spirit-trees,
In fairer climes and happier lands than these.
Pray for fair life in lives that soon befall:
For earthly death is hovering o'er us all!
The sun is setting; soon shall close the day:
O heedless forest, bow your heads and pray!”
A trembling vine, whose leaves had scarcely stirred,
Caught the sad summons, and believed the word,
And hung her graceful head, devout and still,
To these unwelcome prophecies of ill.
A willow wept; a pine did not forget
Its whispered prayer; the birch turned paler yet;
But the great forest lived and laughed its ways
Through the long reaches of the summer days,
And cared not for the oak's deep solemn word:
A thoughtful warning thoughtlessly unheard.
Caught the sad summons, and believed the word,
And hung her graceful head, devout and still,
To these unwelcome prophecies of ill.
A willow wept; a pine did not forget
Its whispered prayer; the birch turned paler yet;
But the great forest lived and laughed its ways
Through the long reaches of the summer days,
And cared not for the oak's deep solemn word:
A thoughtful warning thoughtlessly unheard.
More days went by, and still the forest laughed,
But now the dew with eagerness it quaffed,
And said, “In thy soft flight o'er hill and plain,
O dew, didst see thy king, the blesséd rain?”
But burning hours and days and nights went by,
And ne'er a storm-cloud on the gleaming sky.
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And said, “In thy soft flight o'er hill and plain,
O dew, didst see thy king, the blesséd rain?”
But burning hours and days and nights went by,
And ne'er a storm-cloud on the gleaming sky.
Now did the tall trees thirst with fruitless pain;
Long had they sucked the densely-rooted plain;
Now did their messengers magnetic go
To stream and spring—if they that way might flow;
Now did they envy trees of meaner rank,
That clung along the river's moistened bank;
Now did green leaves to scrolls of parchment wane;
And forests prayed—not for their sins—but rain.
Long had they sucked the densely-rooted plain;
Now did their messengers magnetic go
To stream and spring—if they that way might flow;
Now did they envy trees of meaner rank,
That clung along the river's moistened bank;
Now did green leaves to scrolls of parchment wane;
And forests prayed—not for their sins—but rain.
And still the dry trees hoped a better fate;
And still they, waiting, were but doomed to wait.
The air—sweet breath of best-created things,
The light, God's messenger with golden wings,
Both hovered round: but that great king and slave,
Life's comrade, Water—came not near to save.
The prophet Oak, chief of the tangled grove,
A natural stylite, stood, and, patient, strove
With his own fearful thirst; but sore oppressed,
He suffered for the sufferings of the rest,
And prayed for them: how much availed his prayer,
We cannot tell: for answers are God's care.
And still they, waiting, were but doomed to wait.
The air—sweet breath of best-created things,
The light, God's messenger with golden wings,
Both hovered round: but that great king and slave,
Life's comrade, Water—came not near to save.
The prophet Oak, chief of the tangled grove,
A natural stylite, stood, and, patient, strove
With his own fearful thirst; but sore oppressed,
He suffered for the sufferings of the rest,
And prayed for them: how much availed his prayer,
We cannot tell: for answers are God's care.
One day, a huntsman dropped a flame-tipped seed
Of the fire-plant, when it had filled his need,
And careless went his way, nor mischief knew.—
The yellow kernel slowly, slowly grew,
Timid in new life, lest it might be put
To death forever, crushed by hand or foot;
Then growing stronger, its dull gleaming eyes
Grew lurid with a signal of surprise;
With new-discovered power it sprang upright,
Straight at the trees' dry throats, and clutched them tight.
Of the fire-plant, when it had filled his need,
And careless went his way, nor mischief knew.—
The yellow kernel slowly, slowly grew,
Timid in new life, lest it might be put
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Then growing stronger, its dull gleaming eyes
Grew lurid with a signal of surprise;
With new-discovered power it sprang upright,
Straight at the trees' dry throats, and clutched them tight.
Then came the wild wind with unnumbered aids;
Then glared with flame the forests' deepest shades;
Then a volcano not of lower birth,
Strewed its red lava o'er the shrinking earth;
Then blossoms—such as seldom trees may bear—
Gleamed from a million branches trembling there;
Then a great moan ran all the forest through;
And the trees found their prophet's words were true.
Then glared with flame the forests' deepest shades;
Then a volcano not of lower birth,
Strewed its red lava o'er the shrinking earth;
Then blossoms—such as seldom trees may bear—
Gleamed from a million branches trembling there;
Then a great moan ran all the forest through;
And the trees found their prophet's words were true.
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